The Quiet Realm

I remain in the quiet realm,
between the hazy blankets of solitude.
Waiting for the dawn to break
for light to warm this interlude

I remain in the quiet realm,
Waiting for a sign
For something small to emerge, a bit like hope
A dawn in the Iron mine.


I remain in the quiet realm,
Searching for some peace,
Fighting with the tightening pain
Of our far too short a lease

All I hear are whispers,
On the distant plains
With intentions for a new future
Whilst I lay wrapped in chains.

Will this cycle ever break,
Of an inner suffocation?
Like our time has stopped, a constant still.
An anti evolution?

But I remain in the quiet realm,
Waiting for you to remember
A life time of memories not wasted but kept safe
As we endure our fitful slumber.

The sea, wheron he rides

I ENVY seas whereon he rides,

I envy spokes of wheels

Of chariots that him convey,

I envy speechless hills

That gaze upon his journey;

How easy all can see

What is forbidden utterly

As heaven, unto me!

I envy nests of sparrows

That dot his distant eaves,

The wealthy fly upon his pane,

The happy, happy leaves

That just abroad his window

Have summer’s leave to be,

The earrings of Pizarro

Could not obtain for me.

I envy light that wakes him,

And bells that boldly ring

To tell him it is noon abroad,—

Myself his noon could bring,

Yet interdict my blossom

And abrogate my bee,

Lest noon in everlasting night

Drop Gabriel and me. Emily Dickinson

Daisy

A sleeping daisy, now awake, Tells a tale of a lovers fate

Love me now or love me later, For every heart this flower caters

The days eye blinking bright, Its leafy arms that love the light

Lu’lled within the medow grass, A memoir of the loving past

Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal

Now sleeps the Crimson petal; now the white
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me

Now droops the milk white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the earth all Danae to the stars,
And thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And sips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.


Tennyson

To Run

Just the run and the road.
Mind focused, breathing steady, a light breeze fills the air.
All things ahead and behind an ocean of green.
She takes a deep breath, loaded with floral scents and wild perfumes.

Just me and the road.

Her mind wanders from fields and flowers to you. It aches.
Aches for memories, aches for touches, aches for moments that no-one but you know.
Time, un-tangible, floats irredescent in the space.

Just me, you and the road.

A low branch brushes her face as she snaps back to reality.
And she remembers. The feeling of missing. Like no other ache.
Her feet, never really touching the ground stir up the dust.
A smile blossoms on her face. To know.

Just me, you, the road and the knowledge.

To know the feeling is returned. To know she plays on his mind too.
To know she is like no other, a moment shared in time. A promise.
To know she is wanted and needed.

Just me, you, the road and a promise.

Her breathing slows and her feet feel for the earth once again.
The sun beats down upon her neck.
A warm memory of a moment with you.
Breathlessness contentment.

Just me and you.

Ice meets Fire

Winter is coming.

And the struggle to reclaim the iron throne has begun.

The Others are back... to haunt the realms of men.

Wiley, Windy Moores

She was silent, and the horse ambled along for a considerable distance, till a faint luminous fog, which had hung in the hollows all the evening, became general and enveloped them. It seemed to hold the moonlight in suspension, rendering it more pervasive than in clear air. Whether on this account, or from absent-mindedness, or from sleepiness, she did not perceive that they had long ago passed the point at which the lane to Trantridge branched from the highway, and that her conductor had not taken the Trantridge track.


Tess of the D'Ubervilles

I dreamt of you (The Little White House)

Down winding roads of single tracks lies the little white house. The lanes seem carved into the earth as walls of fern and moss rise up to either side. Primroses peak out from the heavy green, accenting the wild growth and over the stone bridge the little white house lies, slightly tumble down, with ancient oaks partially hiding it from view.

A babbling brook lies at the foot of the little white house lazily trickling between the lichen charmed boulders. The white stone remains settled at the bottom of the engraved valley amongst the tulgey wood. Sun beams fall, scattered by the oaken branches, lighting the windows framed in black.

The house stretches out comfortably into the garden enclosed by a picket white fence, stretching onwards into a meadow overcome with wild flowers. Pleasant winds blow the Daffodils that bob in an ocean of greens and yellows. The shade hunts the sun spots as the meadow gives way to forest following the progress of the brook searching for sea not far away. The forest whispers of dark and light, with secrets known to no man. A thousand adventures in a thousand moments.

Little house I dreamt of you.

Xanadu

They planted a seed over his grave, The seed became a tree. Moses said his father became a part of that tree. He grew into the wood, into the bloom. And when a sparrow ate the trees fruit, his father flew with the birds. He said... death was his fathers road to awe. That's what he called it. The road to awe.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAoUgKVpe10&feature=fvst

A Thousand Images in Your Minds Eye

Xanadu
Kubla Khan by Samuel Coldridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Missing

You are always new.
And the last kiss, ever the sweetest....

Wizards First Rule

Wizards first rule: People are stupid

'People are stupid; given proper motivation, almost anyone will believe almost anything. Because people are stupid, they will believe a lie because they want to believe it's true, or because they are afraid it might be true. Peoples heads are full of knowledge, facts and beliefs, and most of it is false, yet they think it all true. People are stupid; they can only rarely tell the difference between a lie and the truth, and yet they are confident they can, and so are all the easier to fool'

Dont presume to know what you are so sure of, because ten to one it won't be right.
You have ideas of grandeur?
You are but a victim of dysteleology.

Poetry of reality

Theres real poetry in the REAL world. The truth is plenty.

"I'll be looking for you, will, every moment, ever single moment.
And when we do find each other again, we'll cling together so tight nothing and no one'll ever tear us apart.
Every atom of me and every atom of you...
We'll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in the sunbeams...

And when they use our atoms to make new lives,

they won't just be able to take one, they'll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we'll be jonied so tight..."

Lyra, The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman

Evanescence

She stood in the church yard, a light mist crept along the mossy ground. It was early morning and she had already been standing there for an hour now. For some, this behaviour may have seemed strange, but Aponii was not someone who conformed to normal behaviour. She sat under the ancient yew tree that had seen so many years pass by, even before the church had been built it had been present. Witnessing time stretching for centuries, it had stood there still and quiet. It had remained Times observant follower, playing no part itself but remaining, unwavering and ever watch full.

Aponii had often tried to imagine the temporal distance the trees life had spanned. An impossible task she had decided, having pondered on whether time was just an illusion, a measure that we so tightly cling to for a sense of place. It was a concept that Aponii often mused upon; she preferred the tangible, the touchable. Where she sat the dew still clung to the un-mown grass. The cemetery seemed quiet but Aponii knew life was stirring, because, of course, that was why she was there.

The Word Thief

 

Don't take his words, because they are not yours to have, because when you take these letters and meanings you take a part of him.

Dont twist his thoughts and poison his mind, don’t take a memory of a time and place and make it bloom inside is head. Because those times and places were mine, now you replace and steal the memories I have already made.

You suffocate like a deathly vine. And when he moves to change his gaze you hide what is real from view.

He begins to forget why he came here in the first place as his eyes are blinded with what could have been.

But I remain in the quiet realm. Waiting for him to remember. Not all hope is lost yet.

If I could have one wish. It would be that you had never found this place. That you had never invaded our hearts and our minds.

With one word you leave never to be remembered, never to have been at all. Your spitefull whisperings, stirrings of poison masked with sickly sweet perfume now vanish.

And all that remains is a tiny fragment of broken glass. But there is always hope. From one small happy memory, a forest can flourish.

But this time, lets keep it guarded. It is precious and worth fighting for.

Searching

I was asked to search for something. 

An object, a subject, a person, a presence?

Such an item has eluded many, when some don’t care to look and others may never find.

And when I searched from distant plains to homely comforts, I found what I had come for.

To my surprise, I realised that it had always been there, hidden away, a constant in the inner workings.

A vital tick, to match the tock, of the time that we set life by.

It had always been there?

From cracks in space to births of stars, it had been there. 

Not waiting, not watching, just working.

So I took this thing, not substance, not matter but essence and core and placed it where I could see.

To see it, to know it to understand it. This was the greatest challenge.

Time blew in ancient winds, curving and twisting in capricious movements with no scale or purpose.

Realisation dawned as uncertainty faded to dusk. To see, was to know.

To understand was to appreciate that this was one of two parts.

Two parts, so tightly wound together that time itself could not bend the tie.

And then i realised something, perhaps I had always known. 

That you never were, and never will be, alone.

Spring time

 
And so comes the sweet scent and boughs of May

To wonder, walk and wish the nights away

The spring has sprung and winters done

So to the blushing flowered fields we run

The summers scents not far from us

The mown grass, warm breeze and sun we lust

And when Spring and Summer fades away

The blossoms fall in waves from May

The seasons change but we remain and wish for spring to sing again.

Things to look forward to in Spring and Summer:

Insects! Winter lacks that movement, that buzz and twitch of insects. As comes spring so does sound! The warms waves of spring awaken these creatures from their deathly slumbers. One of the first to be propelled back into the sky is the Bumble bee, A true sign of spring, a blossoming flower is not complete without one. Ladybirds, Butterflies and Dragonflies are soon to follow in late spring if warm weather persists. A must see wildlife event is he migration of Painted Lady butterflies from May-August, its spectacular....

Amphibians have already embarked upon their mating mission but look out for tadpoles and efts in ponds and lakes. Another familiar "noise" of Spring is the dawn chorus, the bird song starts ever earlier and ever louder peaking in the summer. Listen out for the Cuckoo, once common at the start of spring now they are few and far between.

Art

Here are a few bits and pieces of my art.... I don't seem to have time to do it these days, maybe I have artists block?

I like taking art from nature, I think maybe it's because nature is so widely up for interpretation, unlike portraits, where each detail is scrutinised.

I love to paint and draw, the above picture of a forest I particularly liked because of the focus of light in the distance. The sunset painting took me all of 25 minutes to do. I used sponges and acrylic paints, which are really east to use a versatile. I found they worked best if you blended the colours on the canvas rather than on a plate, a bit of artists faux pa I know!

These paintings are attempted illustrations of Shakespeare classics. The tempest, full of magic and storms at sea...

The below painting is of Romeo and Juliet, probably one of the most well known plays.

I said I don't do portraits, but here you can see I attempted one....

Its impressionistic, with a wide use of colours not really associated with the human form. I quite like it, but I don't think I could ever paint people I know - I might upset someone... hehheh.

Nature in Art

Claude Monet:

'The Richness I acheive comes from Nature, the source of my inspiration.